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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27000673">Autumn Thrills</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nadare/pseuds/Nadare'>Nadare</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Connor's First [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Autumn, Cemetery, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Ghosts, Halloween, History, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Pumpkins, mazes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:55:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,905</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27000673</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nadare/pseuds/Nadare</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Standing before the entrance to the maze, Hank looked to Connor curiously. “So how are we working this? You going to purposely handicap yourself to solve it?”</p><p>“I’m going to let you lead us,” Connor said. “If you get stumped, I will consult my memory and give you a hint. Otherwise, I will effectively go in as blind as you.”  </p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hank Anderson/Connor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Connor's First [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1107594</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>58</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Autumn Thrills</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>While familiarity with the first six parts helps, this can be read as a standalone story.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>[Written on and off from 8-13-20 to 10-30-20]</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong> <em>“Autumn Thrills”</em> </strong>
</p><p>“I don’t like it.”</p><p>Hank sighed. “Yeah, a lot of people don’t,” he said. “Doesn’t stop them from doing what they have to, does it?”</p><p>Looking at him with a raised eyebrow, Connor asked, “And doing this is needed to accomplish the task?”</p><p>“If you want it done right, yeah.”</p><p>Connor lifted his hand again. He plunged it down into the top of the pumpkin, his nose wrinkling at the sensation of the cold slimy insides of the gourd upon his fingers. “All of it?”</p><p>Hank nodded. “As much as you can get out anyway. It helps to have a flat surface for the light at the bottom.”</p><p>Working in companionable silence, the newspaper they'd set on the table was fast soaked through with pumpkin goop, thick white seeds strung within it.</p><p>As Sumo nudged Hank’s elbow, he turned to his side. “You can’t eat it right now, bud. Later, okay?”</p><p>Making a note to keep the inner pumpkin remnants instead of tossing them out in the trash, Connor finished scraping the inside of the gourd clean. He stared at the naked pumpkin before him, considering the possibilities.</p><p>“I’m always curious what goes on in that mind of yours,” Hank said, turning his pumpkin upside down, goop plopping down in a thick line. “Is it always busy or do you actually get some peace in there every once in a while?”</p><p>Connor marked out his design with tiny intermittent slashes into the pumpkin’s skin. “It depends on what I'm doing at the time. If I'm at work, I’m always multitasking to increase my efficiency. However, at home with you I decompress, refusing to engage in some mental processes at all.”</p><p>He picked up the little carving knife before him and began the first cut, the pumpkin's skin thicker than he anticipated. Connor worked harder to complete the straight line, biting his lower lip in concentration.</p><p>“I'm your port in a storm, huh?” Hank said with a smile. “That's nice to hear. My ex-wife never thought of me as anything but a source of stress.”</p><p>Pushing at the shape he'd managed to finish sawing into the pumpkin, Connor met Hank's eyes who sat across the kitchen table from him. “With all due respect to your previous marriage, our relationship is rather simplistic. I strive to keep things running smoothly in that department as much as possible.”</p><p>The triangle shape fell back inside the pumpkin, hitting the bottom with a plop, and Connor started into the next space across from it.</p><p>Hank pursed his lips. “Not sure how I feel about being managed, but thanks for putting so much thought and effort into it.” He started sawing into his own pumpkin, Sumo finally seeming to realize food was a long way off as he wandered off into the family room to his bed.</p><p>“It's not you per se,” Connor clarified helpfully. “But the world at large that seeks to make matters complicated at times.”</p><p>Hank chuckled. “Welcome to humanity, Connor. Ah, shit.” He frowned at his pumpkin, glancing at Connor when he felt eyes on him in concern. “I cut out too much at the top.”</p><p>“I see.” The mouth on his own design was difficult to navigate the knife through, Connor afraid of bending the blade. Perhaps they should have purchased proper carving tools instead of relying on kitchen knives instead. He resolved to fix the problem soon should more pumpkin carving be in their immediate future.</p><p>Before too long, Connor finished his design with Hank right behind him. He wiped at any leftover pumpkin juice and guts lingering on the front of the gourd with a washcloth, then Connor turned the pumpkin around so Hank could see it.</p><p>“Is it suitable?”</p><p>Hank stared at it before laughing a bit. “Suitable? Yeah, it's a classic.” He leaned forward and traced the simplistic design with his fingers. “Though it's rarely done so perfectly symmetrical.”</p><p>The two wide triangle eyes, nose, and jagged mouth were synonymous with jack-o’-lanterns, Connor wanting to be traditional in that regard.</p><p>“Thank you,” he replied, then gestured to Hank's pumpkin. “May I see yours?”</p><p>Hank spun it around, looking a little nervous.</p><p>Peering at it, Connor saw a huge forehead, deep-set eyes, a toothless mouth, and a small neck with two bolts on its side. Though the design was lopsided to some degree, Connor thought he knew what Hank had been going for.</p><p>“Frankenstein’s monster, sometimes known as Adam in certain academic circles.”</p><p>Hank grinned. “Exactly. I'm a sucker for the classics. Give me Boris Karloff and Lon Chaney Jr any day.”</p><p>Connor briefly stilled as he did his research. He didn’t watch many movies and rarely any black or white ones. “I've never seen any of the Universal films,” Connor confessed, Hank's head automatically snapping in his direction.</p><p>“We'll have to remedy that, won’t we?” Hank said as he began to clean up the table. “They're great. Modern-day horror draws upon them all the time.”</p><p>“With everything we see on the job, I must admit I’m surprised by your love of the horror genre.”</p><p>Hank stood up, crumbling up the dirtied newspaper. “Well, the fictional stuff is way more interesting. People are petty, monsters work more on instinct, their motives plain for all to see. If horror movie logic existed in real life, solving crimes would be so much easier.”</p><p>Sweeping the pumpkin guts and seeds into a plastic tub for baking later, Connor mulled the matter over. “I can’t say I have much of a database to draw from, but the few horror films I’ve seen with you would seem to indicate that many of the characters are rather low in the intelligence department. However, given they are usually in high-stress situations, I suppose it’s understandable.”</p><p>Hank cleared his throat. “Uh, Connor, you do know the main draw of horror, right?”</p><p>Connor waited for him to expound on his statement.</p><p>“For me, it’s not the blood or gore. No, it's seeing someone in a worse situation than you. Things never seem quite as bad once you see someone thoroughly tortured by circumstances beyond their control.”</p><p>“I admit I did not consider the psychological aspect, which would go a long way in explaining the genre’s popularity. Schadenfreude is universal after all.”</p><p>Putting in some plastic lights at the bases of their pumpkins before placing the tops back on, Hank gestured to Connor who turned out the lights.</p><p>Within the darkness, the jack-o’-lanterns shone brightly, the designs cut cleanly. While not many children still indulged in traditional trick or treating these days outside of officially sanctioned areas, Connor liked to think they would have liked their pumpkins had the opportunity to see them.</p><p>Hank turned the lights back on, then thumbed off the ones inside their pumpkins. “I’ll go pop them on the porch, then I'll cue up one of the Universal movies. We need to educate you properly, Connor.”</p><p> “I look forward to it.”</p>
<hr/><p>“I don’t know how you talked me into this,” Hank said at Connor’s side as the wagon they were seated upon slowed, coming up on their destination, a 10-acre corn maze. A banner sign loomed over the tall cornfield, Connor and Hank waiting until everyone else had left the wagon before disembarking themselves.    </p><p>Connor smiled, peering ahead. “Because I made a very strong argument in its favor.”</p><p>“Yeah, that you’d never done one before. Bit hard to tell someone no when they pull that card.” Far from sounding annoyed, despite complaining about driving all the way out to Holly, Hank seemed oddly excited now that they were here.</p><p>Wishing he could be a little more honest with himself, Connor glanced at him. “I can always justify my motivation in other terms.”</p><p>“Forget it,” Hank replied quickly. “Before too long, you’ll be as jaded as the rest of us. Enjoy the naivety while it lasts.”</p><p>The way Hank had phrased made it seem bad, but so far it had been a pleasant educational journey in the matters of the world.</p><p>Surprised to see an android manning a small booth near a weathered barn wearing a vampire costume, Connor approached the smiling blonde-haired woman. Her sunny disposition was immediately clear.</p><p>“Just the two of you?”</p><p>He nodded, and she held out a payment pad. Connor swiped his hand, instantly confirming the transaction.</p><p>“You’re all set. Please do enjoy.” She called after them as they walked away. “Feel free to come back for some cider and donuts afterward.”</p><p>Standing before the entrance to the maze, Hank looked to Connor curiously. “So how are we working this? You going to purposely handicap yourself to solve it?”</p><p>“I’m going to let you lead us,” Connor said. “If you get stumped, I will consult my memory and give you a hint. Otherwise, I will effectively go in as blind as you.”  </p><p>“All right then, let's go solve this shit.”</p><p>Leaving the bright floodlights of the barn behind them, Hank and Connor pulled out the flashlights they'd brought from the car as they entered the maze, corn stalks towering overhead, swiftly surrounding them from all sides.</p><p>From what he'd read online, the 10-acre maze would take one hour to complete. Connor would have set up a strategy beforehand to make sure they never double-backed, but true to his headstrong personality, Hank dived into the challenge recklessly.</p><p>Twenty minutes had passed, trampled corn stalks crunching underfoot before Hank found the first marker that announced their progress, a red circle bearing the number one, its edges lit up by LED strip lights.</p><p>He turned to Connor. “One down and 11 to go, right?” Hank looked downright chipper as they continued onward, dodging other parties that seemed far more harried than them.</p><p>It was a cool crisp night, an almost full moon in the sky above them. It was going to be much colder in the coming days, making Connor glad they'd done the maze when they did.</p><p>Though the scenery wasn’t much to look at, Connor enjoyed the company at his side, Hank plowing down pathways and around corners swiftly.</p><p>He blinked in surprise when Hank suddenly reached out and nudged Connor’s free hand, the latter taking Hank’s proffered digits automatically as a flash of warmth went through him. Knowing Hank wasn’t normally one for PDAs, Connor realized it was dark and they were far enough from Detroit that it was unlikely they’d run into anyone they knew.</p><p>“So we won’t get separated,” Hank said quietly, his eyes flicking from the maze to Connor. “Yeah?”</p><p>Chuckling, Connor nodded. “Yes, better safe than sorry.” He squeezed the fingers in his own and smiled, not caring as they veered into a sudden dead end.</p><p>Hank grunted, backtracking a moment later to take another route. This one led to a blue circle numbered three indicating they'd somehow passed the previous marker.</p><p>“Progress is good.” Hank paused. “Though I wonder which genius thought up corn mazes to begin with. Was it some farmer who wanted to entertain his kids? I wonder what they'd think of the practice now, people paying to willingly get lost.”</p><p>Connor put his head to the side. “Is it not human nature to explore the unknown? To want to prove to others that you can take on a challenge and surpass it?”</p><p>“Well, yeah,” Hank conceded. “But you have to admit this kind of thing is weird.” He stopped, seeming to realize he'd called Connor the same by extension for wanting to do the maze at all. “Not that it's not enjoyable.”</p><p>Marker six, this one yellow, popped up before them.</p><p>“So you <em>are</em> having fun then?” Connor asked, not bothered by Hank's rough words. He'd grown a thick skin after nearly a year of living with the man.</p><p>Hank shot him an exasperated look. “Yeah, this was a good change of pace. It's been too long since I've celebrated Halloween at all. Feels nice getting back into the groove of things.”</p><p>“I'm glad,” Connor replied. “We have a week to go before the official holiday so perhaps we can squeeze more activities in if possible.”</p><p>Hank smirked. “We'll see.”</p><p> </p><p>Ten minutes later, Hank stood in a row of corn and sighed loudly.</p><p>“Connor,” Hank said with exasperation. “Where did I go wrong?” The familiar marker numbered three loomed in front of them ominously.</p><p>Restricting himself to only a short glimpse of his memories, Connor pointed back the way they had come. “You turned left when you should have gone right.”</p><p>“So we go back then.” Trooping past a family who had stopped to calm their upset child, Hank kept an eye on them until they'd gone out of sight. “Hey, Connor, you ever want that?”</p><p>Deciding to be a little cheeky, Connor answered, “Corn? I can’t say it holds much appeal.”</p><p>Hank rolled his eyes. “No, I mean a proper family. Kids and everything.”</p><p>Connor stopped, releasing Hank's hand. That the man opposite him could be so oblivious never failed to amaze him. “I'm happy with the one I have, thanks. You and Sumo have been there for me in ways no one else has and I treasure that.”</p><p>“But we won’t be here forever,” Hank said quietly. “Eventually you'll have to set roots elsewhere.”</p><p>Not liking the suddenly morose mood, Connor said, “I'm aware, Hank, but that day is a long way off and I'd rather focus on the positive side of life.”</p><p>Shooting him a smile, Hank shook his head. “Typical of you. Always so damned cheery.” His voice was full of warmth showing Hank didn’t seem to mind it at all.</p><p>“I off-set your gloomy one perfectly,” Connor countered with a smirk, making Hank laugh. Such occasions were few and far between and Connor savored it.</p><p>Marker nine, a green circle, appeared and Hank looked rather pleased with himself at their progress.</p><p>They proceeded ahead for a while and suddenly Hank paused in front of Connor, glancing this way and that. “I think we've been here before.”</p><p>After doing a brief inspection, Connor had to agree. Someone had destroyed a few corn stalks in the field perhaps out of frustration, their mangled state obvious in the path.</p><p>“Yes, we have.”</p><p>Plotting their entire course through his mind in seconds, Connor knew exactly which path to traverse and how long it would take to reach the exit of the maze. “Would you like me to draw this event to an end?”</p><p>Hank watched him for a moment. “How close are we?”</p><p>“If we make no further mistakes, the exit is a mere five minutes away.”</p><p>Hank blew out a breath. “No, I’m not cheating, not after we've come so far,” he announced gamely. “Come on, I don’t think we went this way before.”</p><p>Admiring Hank for not taking the easy way out, Connor followed him, enjoying Hank’s determined attitude as he puzzled the solution out.</p><p>There were a few more detours, then finally Connor spied a long passage that led out into the open, the pair leaving the corn stalks behind them.</p><p>Overall, they'd spent fifty minutes inside the maze.</p><p>Hank spun around to face Connor grinning. He leaned forward and enclosed him in a quick hug. “Thanks for not making me feel like an idiot in there.”</p><p>“Of course not,” Connor responded lightly, resting his hands upon Hank's back. “You’re a smart man, I knew you'd succeed eventually.”</p><p>Tension entered Hank's shoulders as he stepped back, avoiding Connor's eyes. “You give me too much credit as usual, but I appreciate the vote of confidence.”</p><p>Though Hank had gotten much better in his bad habits since Connor had come to live with him, it was rather frustrating when Hank sold himself short.</p><p>He was a strong capable person who had weathered the best and worst of life, dedicating himself to using his varied talents in law enforcement to improve the lives of those around him. If that wasn’t something to be admired, Connor didn’t know what was.</p><p>Connor pulled at Hank's wrist, stopping him from pulling away entirely.</p><p>“What?” Hank asked.</p><p>“I will always be here to remind you that you're a good man,” Connor vowed, Hank’s face softening around the edges. “That I look back fondly on the events that led to us meeting and would never change a single thing about them.”</p><p>Hank didn’t say anything as Connor released him, then he said quietly, “The last time someone promised me forever, things didn’t work out so well. Don’t jinx it, okay?”</p><p>A biting wind rose up to whip at their coats as Hank started walking around the outer edge of the cornfield that had been marked out for returning customers, leaving Connor to stare after him for a long moment.</p><p>Despite how far they’d come in their relationship, Hank was still haunted by the events of his past. Letting out a sigh, Connor began following on Hank’s heels, certain that one of these days he’d make Hank believe him when Connor said he wasn’t going anywhere.   </p><p>He was nothing if not patient.</p>
<hr/><p>Staring at the website displayed on Connor’s computer screen, Hank peered at him with disbelief. “A ghost tour? Really? Shouldn’t you be inherently skeptical of that shit?”</p><p>Connor shook his head. “I find the paranormal remarkably interesting actually. Logic can’t always explain every event that occurs.”</p><p>Hank straightened up behind his chair. “Of course you would.”</p><p>“And it's not really a ghost tour per se, lieutenant,” Connor explained. “It's a cemetery lantern tour that explores the history of Detroit's most well-known residents that rest six feet under.”</p><p>Hank raised an eyebrow. “And questions if they're still around in some form.”</p><p>Connor drummed his fingers on the desk. “In our job, we're paid to look into matters that concern the general public. Are there not some cases that conclude in a strange matter or remain unsolved to this day? Don’t you appreciate the mystery in everyday life?”</p><p>Looking at him, Hank bit off a chuckle. “You know, you can just say you really want to go. There's no need to give me a long explanation. I won’t bite your head off if you want to be a little selfish.”</p><p>Connor stilled, the other arguments as to why it was culturally important to honor and learn about the dead dying on his lips.</p><p>“I would very much like to go on this tour with you.” A beat because he couldn’t resist adding one more word to the statement. “Please.”</p><p>Hank patted Connor’s shoulder. “If you can get us in this close to Halloween, then we’ll go. Now wasn’t that easier?”</p><p>“Yes, it was.”  </p>
<hr/><p>It was dusk when they approached the cemetery’s entrance, still open to receive visitors, the large archway a lavish display of quarried limestone in late Victorian style. A little behind the gateway was a wide circular drive, Hank parking in a free spot towards the right side. There were already a dozen or so cars there, a handful of people standing around chatting with each other.</p><p>The grounds of Elmwood cemetery wouldn’t have been out of place in a horror movie, its lush rolling hills dotted with gravestones, both old and new, soaring obelisks, leaning spires, and stone carved mausoleums peeking out of the shadows of a variety of trees, their leaves adorned in bright fall colors.</p><p> If such things as ghosts or zombies existed, it would have been the perfect place to go unnoticed.</p><p>“<em>Night of the Living Dead</em>,” Connor said under his breath as they sat in the car, Hank busy retrieving his coat from the backseat.</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>Connor glanced at Hank. “That’s the movie this place is reminiscent of.”</p><p>Hank took a longer look around the landscape outside the car, the sun almost below the horizon. “Yeah, you’re not wrong,” He zipped up his coat. “You seem to really like that movie.”</p><p>“Despite the film’s age and sensational plot, the relevance of the societal fabric holds very true to today’s political climate.”</p><p>Hank smirked, opening his car door. “Pretty sure you mean things can go to hell at any given moment.”</p><p>“Exactly,” Connor confirmed as he slipped out of the passenger’s seat, closing the car door behind him.  </p><p>Ahead of them was a large Gothic chapel, their complex glass windows lit from within with a soft glow. On the small flight of wide stone steps leading up to the building laid 25 lit oil lanterns casting an inviting light over part of the cemetery grounds.</p><p>“I wonder if that's part of the tour,” Hank said, pulling up the collar of his jacket when the wind started up. It was a chilly autumn evening, one day before Halloween.</p><p>Connor was grateful he'd managed to secure places in the tour at all, otherwise, he was sure they wouldn’t have been able to do this at all until next year.</p><p>“I admit the text on the website was rather vague about the contents of the tour, but I hope so.”</p><p>They'd been waiting nearly ten minutes when one of the chapel doors creaked open, making a woman near them jump back in fright as she clutched at what seemed to be her husband.</p><p>A hooded black figure lingered in the open space, their visage covered with a veil, making it difficult to discern any facial details.</p><p>“Welcome one and all to Elmwood Cemetery,” a deep female voice announced, amplified by a microphone hidden somewhere on their person. “Perhaps for a few of you, this will be the last stop in the earthly realm. Only time will tell.”</p><p>Hank rolled his eyes towards Connor silently, as if to say, ‘look what you've gotten us into'.</p><p>The foreboding presence pulled up their veil, revealing an attractive looking middle-aged woman with brown hair. She smiled widely. “Of course that would make me look incredibly suspicious to the police so if you could make an effort to not drop dead on me, I'd appreciate it.”</p><p>A few laughs from the crowd, then the woman sprang into action, closing the chapel door behind her. “Right, well, I'm Andrea, your guide for tonight. If you’d each grab a lantern, we can set off into the cemetery grounds.</p><p>“Please keep the wicks inside the lanterns as low as you can, otherwise I’ll have to spend a lot of time tomorrow removing smoke and soot from the insides and who likes cleaning?” Andrea joked, her light tone belying the serious expression on her face. It was clearly something that annoyed her.</p><p>Connor picked up one of the lanterns, his fingers above the oil lamp warming instantly. The hinges of it creaked lightly as he stepped back, seeing everyone else had equipped themselves with a light source as well.</p><p>“Though we make every effort to keep the grounds easily navigable for our guests, do mind where you’re walking. Wouldn’t want any unfortunate accident spoiling the evening, would we?”</p><p>Andrea began leading the group to the left, sticking to the main road. “Founded in 1846, Elmwood cemetery was originally only 42 acres, however, over time it grew to 86 and is home to more than 52,000 souls. From Civil War soldiers to senators, anyone is welcome to join our ranks once shuffling off their mortal coil.”</p><p>She stopped in a wide-open field to the far left of the cemetery, which was lined with trees, waiting until the whole group was crowded around her before spreading out her arms, amusement in her eyes.</p><p>“You might think we’re standing on an empty lot, but underneath us are hundreds of bodies. It’s called a potter’s field and anyone with no next of kin to claim them was buried here. Nowadays this practice has gone out of style in favor of cremation, but believe it or not, if any relatives with definitive proof step up with a claim, the powers that be are more than happy to let them bury their family anew in a proper grave.”     </p><p>As a few people near them looked uncomfortable, more than happy to move on to another location, Connor peered down, doing a brief scan. Andrea was indeed correct, the bodies under them numerous, yet laid to rest with the greatest respect.</p><p>A short time later, Andrea perched against a thick red stone gravestone, delicately etched flowers lining the top left-hand corner of the structure.</p><p>“Born in 1859, Margaret Mather rose from practically nothing to become one of the most famous Shakespearean actresses in the 1880s through a combination of clever advertising and natural skill. Though she wasn’t universally loved by critics, none could deny Margaret’s passion and energy when she was on the stage.</p><p>“There was no lack of roles for a while, yet a few lackluster productions spelled her eventual downfall. Nevertheless, after a short retirement, Margaret returned to the stage. During one performance in 1898, she fell ill and later died.</p><p>“Much like how Bela Lugosi was buried in one of the famous capes he wore as Dracula, Margaret was buried in her white gown from her role as Juliet in Romeo and Juliet. A true diva to the end.”    </p><p>Their next stop was a granite structure with a richly intricate round spire atop it. She placed one hand against its side, drawing the crowd’s attention to the words etched on the front of it.</p><p>“Eber Brock Ward was born in Ontario, Canada in 1811. Shortly after his mother died in 1821, the Ward family moved from Pennsylvania to Detroit. Few might remember, but 16 years earlier, a great fire had swept through the city of Detroit, razing it nearly entirely to the ground. Amazingly, not one person died in spite of the vast devastation.</p><p>“Therefore, Detroit was a but a small town of 1,600 when Eber arrived there. Quickly getting involved in the shipping business, Eber began a shipbuilding business with his uncle, becoming an unqualified success. In no time at all, he expanded his interest to the railroads, mining, and logging, but it was the steel industry in which Eber met his greatest triumph, even Henry Ford using materials from Eber’s various factories in his iconic cars.</p><p>“At the time of his death in 1875, Eber was worth two and a half million dollars. Adjusted for inflation, that would be over 16 million dollars. Little wonder Eber was the wealthiest man in the Midwest and definitively Detroit’s first millionaire.”    </p><p>And so it went for nearly an hour.</p><p>Their guide Andrea was a treasure trove of history, highlighting past mayors, Civil War generals, and even baseball players that had been laid to rest in the cemetery grounds.</p><p>As they neared a wide creek, Andrea brought the tour to a stop. “On July 31st, 1763 during Pontiac’s War, in which native tribes in the Great Lakes region rose up to drive the British out of their lands, a violent skirmish erupted between Native Americans and Redcoats.</p><p>“A month earlier, Chief Pontiac had successfully seized control of Fort Detroit. At the behest of a comrade, British Captain James Dalyell thought he would be able to put a dent into Chief Pontiac’s forces. However, Pontiac was warned ahead of time of the army’s arrival and prepared accordingly at his encampment.”    </p><p>Andrea gestured to the bridge over the creek. “British troops were ambushed on this very bridge. 20 of them were killed and 34 were wounded, painting the creek red with blood. Previously known as Parents Creek, this area was thereafter known as ‘Bloody Run,’ very much an unmitigated disaster for the British all around.”</p><p>She clapped her hands together. “Now here’s where the tour ends, but I’d be most appreciative if you follow me back with your lanterns and return them where you found them.” She winked playfully. “Luckily, the chapel is just around the corner.”</p><p>Connor began to follow the group around the creek’s bend when he caught a glimpse of someone standing behind a tree near the side of the body of water. They wore an old-fashioned British uniform, carrying a musket in their hands, their features pale and forlorn.</p><p>“Hank?”</p><p>His partner turned halfway towards him with a furrowed brow, stopping when he saw what Connor was looking at. He smiled a little. “Well, looks like Andrea has a friend trying to spook a few people. Their timing sucks though.”</p><p>Andrea didn’t seem the type. Connor refocused on the area, finding there was a large temperature discrepancy. The shape was at least 20 degrees cooler than their surroundings and Connor couldn’t hear a heartbeat.</p><p>Driven to secure more evidence, Connor swept towards the creek’s bend, the figure abruptly gone. The lantern squeaking on its hinges in his grip, he knelt down next to the tree and stared at the lack of fresh footprints around it.</p><p>“We're going to get left behind, Connor,” Hank called out, standing on the path, his light a beacon in the oppressive darkness.</p><p>Left with more questions than answers, Connor stood after surveying the region around him. Other than various animals and the tour group walking away in the distance, no one else was in the immediate area. There was also no evident technology set up nearby that could have been responsible for the strange sighting.  </p><p>“Coming.”</p><p>Perhaps for Hank, assigning blame to Andrea's friend was enough, but Connor couldn’t disprove the possibility of ghosts so outright. After all, what he’d just glimpsed hadn’t registered on any of Connor’s sensors.</p><p>For him, the jury was still out.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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